Tales of the Ancients
by Harbringer of Cheesepuffs
Summary: All her life, 17 year old Lyralei and her classmates at Eul Academy were meant for only one purpose and nothing else: To destroy the enemy's Ancient over and over. This continuous war has left her questioning the true purpose of this seemingly pointless task. Soon, she becomes involved in a peculiar incident when researchers accidentally rip a portal in space-time continuum.


*Author's Notes/Disclaimers:

-I have no rights and ownership of most characters featured in this fan fiction. Riot and Valve owns these characters.

-This is not a full-blown crossover between LoL and DOTA 2, instead the LoL champions and references are just for extra flavor.

-Expect a chapter to be finalized within a month.

-If you have any questions, please message me.

(Chapter Status: In Progress)

* * *

"On your feet, Prisoner #398." said an authoritative voice from behind. A purple skinned, well-built muscular man sat in a frigid cold steel chair, with his body

wrapped in more chains than that undead ice mage who once terrorized an entire kingdom. A long time ago, an ice mage wrecked havoc into the ranks of

kingdoms, solidifying every blood vessel in whoever dared to oppose his icy reign. Those who were still fortunate to survive still had to deal with cold feet

everyday despite wearing several layers of socks and sweaters alike. The ice mage's icy presence slows all in its path both physically to steal the lives off of

others to fuel his never ending lust for power and mentally as each incantation of cryomancy would make everyone else's deaths feel as slow and painful as possible.

Then one day, the city-folk have decided to banish the mage once and for all by chaining him in the thickest of steel that was used to pin down dragons and toss

him into the bottomless Black Pool for ages until a foolish wizard decided to revive him as an undead ice lich.

* * *

How can one wait so long to achieve such freedom, the purple man wondered to himself?

Surely he can outlive the guard constantly berating and mocking him

at the moment, but what about the chains? Of course, with enough patience, mother nature will do its magic on the steel and oxidize it to crumbling rust so that

he may return to his comrades. He looked downwards. His feet looked sickly disfigured after being forced to march several miles. Black dust and filth decorated

the gaps of his toes and whenever he clenched them, particles of dirt would flake off and cascade down onto the stone floor. The stone was highly reflective, as

just yesterday in the afternoon, the smiling sun would bounce onto the stone, taunting the man that freedom is so close yet so far. No cell door existed, he

remembered. The guards actually lowered him into the three-story deep pit with only the diseased rats to keep him company. A titanium vault sealed him inside,

coupled with the finest time locks to strip him of his godly powers. Now, the man calmly continued looking downwards, his breath escaping through his teeth in

a light hissing noise.

* * *

Today, the prisoner would be interrogated by a high ranking officer under the accusation of illegal immigration into their world and

vandalism of their towers. A rough and tough girl stood guard at the top of the pit whilst flexing her robotic gauntlets that would demolish rocks and an inmate's

balls(Both literally and metaphorically) to mere rubble. Her wild, punk-style pink hair complimented her tough tomboyish attitude as she continued to demand

the purple-skinned man's attention for a good few hours.

"C'mon I don't have all day!", she screamed at the inmate.

Her desperate attempts to appear threatening and authority-like actually made her appear more adorable and cuter in the purple man's vision. It was like

finding pleasure in a miserable donkey that tries so hard to eat the carrot tied on a rope and stick, but in the end, all its effort would go wasted. "Did you not

hear a word I've just said?" the guard looked disapprovingly. "Or do you still think you're some hot shit that thinks you can deny me?" "Because that's what

you're basically in right now!" There was no point in keeping dead silent any more, the inmate thought to himself.

* * *

Again, he can bear to wait for all the chains cocooning him to rust to dust in centuries

time, but he would snap in impatience the next time the irritating guard chastised him or even snap the chains themselves if he actually could. Eventually, the

prisoner sat up straight in the steel bolted chair and spoke. The chilling touch from the chair's thermo-conductive properties did not marry well with his already

bare skin. Hailing from the timeless world of Claszureme, the brawler never dressed more than just torn shorts and rags as his attire. Dirt clinged onto his

shorts, in which he tried to shake off despite being held in bondage, but the dirt resisted and continued to grasp his ripped shorts. He looked back at the guard.

She was the same girl who arrested him or rather sent him flying with robotic steel-like fists so powerful, yet it was nothing compared to the signature uppercut

of the legendary Ymir the Tusk of the North. How could this happen? He was once amongst the greatest defenders of the Ancients, yet this former delinquent

punk-girl managed to capture him! Maybe he did deserve to spend some time in a damp and dark prison with a bratty police officer for not thinking ahead back

when they were fighting. One chronosphere! All it take was one chronosphere so he can make short work of that annoying nincompoop of a police officer and

impale that sniper with her own rifle!

* * *

Amidst all of his regrets and introspection, he failed to realize the young officer has been screaming at the top of her lungs

to get her attention. "Fucking hell!", she shrieked in impatience. "Do you ever listen to anyone back at your so-called planet, you purple shithead?!" The time-

warrior simply sighed and replied, "You will call me by the name of Darkterror and will continue to do so until I get out of this pathetic excuse of a city." The pink

haired girl scoffed and said, "Ha! Some fighter you turned out to be!" "Are going to cry and try to run home to ma and pa and tell them how I gave you a little

boo-boo?", she said mockingly. "Oh wait, you can't, because you will be spending the rest of your life at this place!" The officer readjusted her thick leather belt

and continued on, ''It's a shame. I've got two fists, but you've only got one face.'' "Such a foolish thing to say, little-girl..." uttered the prisoner.

"How can you punch something that doesn't exist?!" He raised his head, revealing his crooked grin encased in a purple T-shaped like head. Where his nose and

eyes should be, was a sheen of shining purple that reflected the officer's priceless expression of shock and horror. A bloodcurdling scream erupted in the girl's

desperate cry for help as she attempted to strike him with her gauntlets. A loud smash resonated from her gauntlets as she struck the faceless man square in

the chin, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch. A breath of relief escaped the girl's lips as she tried to calm herself. With hands still sweating

from the incident, she removed her gauntlets and set them on the barren ground. A buzzing ring started in the back pocket of her dusty and slightly ripped

jeans like a robotic child crying for its mother. It was probably another one of those annoying phone calls her partner gives four times an hour for status reports.

"No, I already told you dozens of times today," she answered on the phone. "Well duh, of course everything is fine, I just had to go Mike Tyson on this weird

prisoner guy right now." "Yes, I did think physical force was necessary, after all, it is my favorite style of keeping order," the girl continues. The guard picked her

gauntlets back from the ground and proceeded to open the metal latches to reattach them to her wrists, with her chin holding the phone in place against her

shoulder so that her head was now bent at an awkward angle. She replies back into the phone, "I just need to grab a body bag to clean this mess up, see ya in

a few hours!" She returned the phone to her pockets and proceeded to walk towards the electronic 3x3 dialpad that controls the ten ton vault-like steel door.

The door requires four different code sequences that must be inputted in the correct order, each of the four codes having 8 digits. For most, a rather long and

complex passcode can prove more than a mere inconvenience, but for her, she knows the code on the back of her hextech gauntlets. Soon, her fingers moved

on the dialpad so fast, it was like a game of dextrous Dance Dance Revolution until four green lights appeared on the side of the door. However, the door did not

open its mouth, much to the girl's surprise. She attempted keying in the combinations a second time, but unfortunately, the door still refused to open. Annoyed

the girl thought to herself,"Alright, third time's the charm."

* * *

At dusk, a gang of shady members gathered behind a dimly lit alleyway littered with spoiled Chinese take-out food, old toys, a telephone, banana peels and

stained cardboard. Before, the alley once belonged to a local drunk whom drank himself to sleep every morning and greeted people at the doorstep in

front of the liquor store corner with a wave of his almost skeletal hand. The same people pass by him everyday and gave him the occasional spare pocket

change. By now, he's already become insanely popular in the city after two decades of living in that exact street corner. Today, the bum would go on his ordinary

routine of using some spare change to purchase a cheaply made bottle of vodka from the liquor store that was literally just right around the corner. "Aye Travis,

ya'll better stop drinking so much of zat booze," a concerned voice said from behind the cash register. "It's not helpin' yer cause, brother." Travis shrugged his

shoulders and took the Vodka from the cashier. He was right. The cashier that he has known for so many years has always cared about his livelihood. Everyday,

Travis takes the cashier's advice like a grain of salt and finish the bottle of vodka even before the cashier could finish his sentence. Today was not one of those

days. Travis stepped towards the exit of the liquor store with one hand on the graffiti-decorated glass door and another hand gripping the newly bought bottle of

vodka. The drunk drank his liquor like what most would expect him to do with his back against the wall. He sat back down, took off his tattered canvas jacket,

folded it into a neat square to use as a pillow and fell peacefully fell asleep. By nighttime, the bum should have already awakened from his slumber, but he never

did. A gathering of figures wearing deep hoods stood above his lifeless and alcohol-contaminated body. A burly man with bulging muscles wearing a ponytail

picked up the deceased Travis with just one hand and chucked him over his shoulder into a conveniently placed dumpster.

* * *

"Oh boy, here we are again", Darkterror gestured at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Gentlemen, instead of splitting into separate groups and getting captured

by those idiots like for the eighth time in a row" "Why don't we try something else, right Boush?", the time warrior taunted. A group of people huddled in a

center with interest. They appear to be looking at a faintly glowing orb and listening to its tranquil buzzing. Upon hearing Darkterror utter Boush's name, they all

parted from each other to reveal an empty brick wall. Darkterror had to look down to see his subject of interrogation. The diminutive man whom was

called Boush took of his slightly cracked spectacles and wiped a fragment of dust from the edges of his eyes. The scientist paced back in forth while tugging on a

mechanical backpack that grasped his body like a U-bar harness at a rollercoaster ride. The glowing orb of energy slightly peaked out from the top, but the

tinker quickly pressed a button on his wristwatch to conceal it.

"Darkterror, if you have such a problem with me, then why don't you just leave?", Boush responded back. Darkterror looked back at the tinker with curiosity and

said, "No, no, no." "It's not that I have a problem with you." "It's the fact that your mistakes has costed us so much ever since we arrived to this wretched

place."

"No argument there," said Boush in acceptance.

* * *

"That is why I have requested the help from all of you so that we may continue on with the research project".

From inside Boush's backpack, a mechanical arm emerged from the top and started humming with electrical energy. The steel arm automatically bent and

angled itself to point its drill-like beak towards a blank wall. The very contraption that Boush created from the spare remaining parts leftover from his laboratory

has proven to have more power than a jet engine, but more graceful and finesse than a dancer. Apart from the robotic arm being a salvaged laser-beam cutter

that the tinker uses to blind his adversaries, it also doubled as a screen projector.

"Gentlemen, as we speak, Aurel should be flying over our location by now and will provide us on more information about this planet once he answers this skype call," the scientist informed Darkterror and the others.

"So far, Aurel has already informed me that this planet looked quite similar to ours including its citizens," Boush continues.

"He should've called me back by now; it has been ten hours since he provided me with another analysis report", Boush thought to himself. He has been

stranded on this planet for a good two weeks by now, yet nothing much seems to be happening. Hopping into a portal and bringing his colleagues along to

another place seemed all too familiar. "Deja Vu," Boush thought to himself. "Deja Vu indeed" He raised his fingers to remove the wooden pipe from his lips and

exhaled a puff of grayish smoke. The smoke danced in the air as it sailed through the air and formed itself into a circular ring bigger than his own head.

Immediately after, Boush curled his lips inwards and gently blew a stream of smoke through the existing smoke ring. The smoke stream weaved through the

ring four times back and forth until Boush decided to inhale all the smoke back into his lungs to puff it out once more.


End file.
